Western Hero
by XxFallenAngel428xX
Summary: A psycho serial killer is out to get Arthur after he's the only victim to escape his clutches. The only man stopping him is the head - only - sheriff in the small Western town, Alfred Jones. Will the killer succeed? Suspense/ Western/ romance/ hurt and comfort. UsUk. T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N; Hey, I am writing this as a request, and I like it~! Haha, you know who you are! *heart!* I sincerely apologize for the Arthur's occ-ness in this chapter. TTATT I hope to make it better in the future… X/. Okz, now what? Idk. Onwards, my puppets!**

**Summary: A psycho serial killer is out to get Arthur after he's the only victim to escape his clutches. The only man stopping him is the head (only) sheriff in the small Western town, Alfred Jones. Will the killer succeed? Suspense/ Western/ romance/ hurt and comfort. UsUk**

**Pairings: UsUk, I have no idea of the others yet, though…**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but a few posters… and a (n America) plushie… not even the idea… again… =_='**

He runs down the abandoned, dark road, his ripped trench coat trailing behind him as the hard rain hits him like bullets. On his trail; a purple-eyed, light-blond, tall Russian, wielding a hand gun and kitchen knife. The dirt road made for perfect mud and puddle making material, therefore causing the two men to splash themselves with filthy water in their running. The larger was taking fewer and slower steps, his stride longer, a new limp slowing him down. The emerald-eyed Brit kept running, taking the first turns he could see that lead him to his destination.

New in the town, he only knew where the sheriff and his own house were. His house wouldn't help him; that's where the first attempt at murder had occurred. The sheriff happened to be on the complete other side of town and Arthur had thought he stood vary little chance, but he just kept running.

Running and breathing. But just barely for the latter.

He heard his heart pound in his chest louder for every turn he took closer to the building that stood tall next to the church. He took the last turn, finding the wooden thing that meant hope for him right now. He ducked behind a small brick wall in the yard of the church. The short man held what little breath he did take until he was sure that the Russian hadn't seen him, hoping his heart wouldn't give away his location.

He slowly peeked up, scanning the near-blackness in vain. His eyes spotted the faint glow of the lantern that hung right outside the sheriff's department at all times.

He slumps over to the single hinge-swing door, pushing it open with his body as it fell to the ground when he blacked out, only one witness to the sight.

_Arthur_

"Argh… what the… ugh, my head…" he tried to bolt up, but his body stops, pain and a single strong arm stopping him. He opened one eye. Arthur only saw a light blue vest fitted tightly to a fine-toned torso. He closed his eye again and tried to bolt up, ignoring the pain. Yet again, he was stopped by a single arm. This time, another arm matching the first was helping him sit upright.

"Hey there, glad to see ya finally awake!" a cheery ('American' Arthur mused) voice piped.

Arthur opened his eyes again, cringing from the brightness. As his eyes adjusted, he remembered the circumstances in which he was where he was. "Oh there was a man! And… uh.. he was chasing me! And I… came here… because I wouldn't be able to go to my... Home… My home! I- I- bloody hell! I don't even know any more! Where's my coat?" Arthur began saying random things that came to his mind, like purple eyes, freakish scarves, rain, someone named Scott, and a few British stuff his company knew nothing about.

"Um, kid, who are you? Why'd you come here and pass out?" Arthur registered there was still a person in front of him as he ranted, stopped and explained. All the while, taking in the descriptor of the wheat blond. His eyes were a perfect sapphire, his face not too bad either. A single, stubborn strand somehow defied gravity, and in some way, Arthur felt that was his only fault. **[Author: For now~ MWA-HA-HA-HA! Lol, I'll just make him annoying… I think.]**

"Hullo, I'm Arthur Kirkland, 25 as a matter of fact, don't call me kid, I'm older, the victim of an attempted murder that took place last night, and I'm about to pass out again." Arthur had his hand held out, but as that last part was rushed, his body and mind became unresponsive and limp, falling to the left. The bright blue eyed man in front of Arthur caught him, holding him bridal style against his chest as he stood up to bring him to the couch upstairs he so often used as a bed.

_Alfred_

I was carrying this guy that weighed less than most of the girls here and spoke with this weird accent up the stairs; I couldn't leave him on the ground downstairs! To be sure his head wouldn't hit anything, I had had his head slumping forward just a bit, so I could see corners and the random stuff around here before it got too close.

I knelt by the old floral patterned sofa and set him on the cushion. He looked so peaceful, almost dead, except for his rising and falling chest. 'Arthur Kirkland, 25' he had said. He was right; he is older, but only by a couple years. Why was there an attempt at murder in my town? And why him? Isn't he just the new guy from… England, right? That explains the jibber-jabber he was saying earlier. I understood next to nothing of it… I'll ask 'im when he wakes up.

"Speak o' the devil, rise and shine! Again." I muttered, unaware my face was so closely inspecting his.

Yeah, inspecting, that's it…

"Ugh… American's are so loud…" Apparently, my muttering is loud. I can understand that. Mattie used to yell at me with his whispered voice when I would speak at my natural volume. "Who are you?" he gruffly stated, sitting up after I pulled away from him, blushing I'm sure.

"I'm Alfred F. Jones, 23! I'm the only, ergo head, sheriff in this town! I hear you speak of a murder attempt in my town?" I give my infamous 'hero-pose' and look at him, resisting the urge to wink.

"Oh, it's nothing; I'm just being chased by a crazed, violet-eyed Russian with a freakish scarf who's been out to get me since I'm the only one that escaped his clutches a… f-few years back and he hates me and wants to cut me to l-little pieces slowly so I can feel e-every slice and cut like he did to his other victims, only slower and longer. Plus, the last time he found me, I-I had stabbed him with his own knife in his thigh, so he won't ever, ever, _ever_ forgive me. And I don't even _want_ him to. I just want him dead for killing my family. Well, I don't c-care too much about Scott, b-but Peter and Mum were important to me. And- and- a-"

I cut him off as he rambled. He didn't even notice, but tears were streaming down his face as he stuttered, the emerald in his eyes dimming with pained memories. I don't know why, but I didn't want that acidic color to dim down on him. When it dimmed it was like a part of him was dying, and I was the hero! No one dies on my watch! Not counting natural causes… but still!

And, for some reason, I had to be Arthur's hero!

**Did it turnout well? I have no idea... ;^; But, saddly, it seems Arthur is a nervous wreck and Alfred already likes him subconsciously.**

**Review, please! I'll cry if I don't get favs... its happened before... TT-TT**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: What do I do now? This chapter doesn't have much 'Be alert! He's coming to kill you!' here… Haha, this should be fun. ;-3 I really don't think it helps me any that I know next to nothing about the Western days… -.-'**

**I APOLIGIZE FOR PROCRASTINATION; I AM SORRY, VARY SORRY. I CAN ONLY HOPE YOU WILL FORGIVE ME! DX**

**Summary: A psycho serial killer is out to get Arthur after he's the only victim to escape his clutches. The only man stopping him is the head (only) sheriff in the small Western town, Alfred Jones. Will the killer succeed?**

**Genre: Suspense/ Western/ romance/ hurt and comfort.**

**Pairings: UsUk, I have no idea of the others yet, though…**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Only a few days have passed since Alfred and Arthur have met, and about two days after the initial meeting, Alfred had- forced- Arthur to move in with him. He would keep saying things like 'I'm the only sheriff here, and the best hero ever needs to keep an eye on you!' and 'You can't just live outta the sheriff's building, you know. Anyone is allowed to just walk in here.' To that last one Arthur would say simply 'Then why does it look like _you_ have been doing just that, Sheriff Jones?' and walk back over to the couch, staring at the sky, out of the window on the other side of the room. Admittedly, Alfred has made due with living in the sheriff's building, but only because the hero impulsions in his brain wouldn't let him leave the building when something bad could still happen in his town. Plus, it's because of those impulsions that he became the sheriff after the one before had retired. His brother, Matthew, was completely against it.

"H-Hi, I'm Matthew, Alfred's brother, and the one who brings him fresh clothes and meals every few days." This is what the kind younger twin had said to Arthur upon his (forced) arrival.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Arthur Kirkland. I hope not to be a bother to you." Arthur responded politely.

"Artie, you won't be a bother! You couldn't if you tried!" Alfred declared, sliding an arm over Arthur's shoulders. To this, Arthur simply stepped out of the hold, saying calmly, yet obviously agitated "My name is Arthur, not 'Artie', you bumbling idiot."

The brothers' house wasn't that far from the sheriff's building; in fact the sheriff's building and the church beside it are basically the entire edge of town, and the two-story brick-with-wood-here-and-there house was only about 50 yards after that.

The house, itself, had a few windows on both the top and bottom floors. They were trimmed with clean white wood, and a couple had stained glass. On the first floor, there is a parlor with a red, white, and blue drum set with the American and Canadian flags painted side-by-side on the base of the one drum upturned on its side ***author: is shot, because she has **_**no idea**_** what that's called…***, a pair of handmade sticks hanging from the wall above the seat, down by the end of the room. A single, wooden acoustic guitar with no pain, no decorations, nothing, but the natural wood stood, propped up, next to the drums. The couch was set to look at the intricate patterns on the stone surfaces surrounding the fireplace. A carpet covered a good portion of the floor and had Native American symbols and patterns. Off to the side, there was a small door-les doorway leading into an equally small kitchen. Along one wall was an oven, and a few counters with stone surfaces, but no drawers or cabinets, however, there was a row of cabinets that hung from the ceiling on the other side of the room.

On the second floor there were the bedrooms; three. A guest room and two medium sized rooms next to each other, Alfred's was closest to the stairs and a star was scratched sloppily into the door. Matthew's was the door all the way down the hall to the left-hand side, a maple leaf etched into the surface. All three doors were of solid oak, a thick and strong barrier between the outside worlds than that of the person inside, often seeking refuge. All the way down the hall is a window with a small handmade table with a clay Native American pot, iris' painted onto it with an outstanding array of blues, purples, greens, and even a few yellows to create an amazingly life-like display. Yet, the only thing it held was a soft pink lotus.

In the guest room, there was a medium window with a large windowsill; a few solid colored pillows lamely thrown there in an attempt to offer comfort, the curtains were a pale maroon and thick, almost a complete sun-blocker. The bed, placed against the wall in the center of the room, had four pillows, each with their own stripe and color pattern, the quilt holding an impressive stitch pattern, and the colors were clashy, but worked somehow, creating a calm and secretly excited feel.

There was also a flat desk opposite the bed, a small collection of unopened, untouched books, the spines looking as if they just came off the press, even though the dust upon them shouts otherwise in the top left corner. There was a stack of thin parchment on the upper right of the desk as well. There was a long, soft quill placed in a half-full maroon ink dip.

Arthur was astonished to find that the boys live alone, that they were both orphans from the city found at the front step at a kind orphanage with the vase from upstairs and a note inside saying 'Please, take care of my boys, my family will not accept them with me, regardless of my love for them, as I do not know the father.', coming here to get a new start, and that Alfred had mostly built the entire house, with the lone help of Gilbert and Antonio, recruited by Matthew, knowing his (now) boyfriend wouldn't be able to say no to the quiet hibiscus*.

**Not too much mush or progress, but it's somewhere… ^.^lll**

**Review, maybe? I give you a burrito, or cookies, if you prefer...**

**Edit: Sorry, i forgot something...**

**hibiscus*= it has a meaning and it usually stands for delicate beauty.**

**AND I forgot a paragraph! DX I can't believe I did that!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Erg… no idea **_**whatsoever **_**to do with this chapter… or the plot… at all. I am a horrible author. **

**Special thanks to IamAwsomePrussiaDenmark and all those anons for reviewing, it really meant a lot to me.**

**Summary: A psycho serial killer is out to get Arthur after he's the only victim to escape his clutches. The only man stopping him is the head (only) sheriff in the small Western town, Alfred Jones. Will the killer succeed?**

**Genre: Suspense/ Western/ romance/ hurt and comfort.**

**Pairings: UsUk, PruCan, Spamono, I have no idea of the others yet, though…**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

As for the scene of the final decision, it begins back at the entrance to the Sheriff's Building. For the ump-teenth time in the few days they had even known each other's name, they were arguing. However, Alfred seemed to be enjoying himself a fair amount more than Arthur.

"I understand that you _are_ the sheriff and you're the only one with a legal gun permitted for more than hunting in this town, but I don't. Want. To live. With. You," Arthur used as his point once more.

"But, Artie, I want to protect you!" Alfred whined at Arthur, bending down to see eye-to-eye with the small blond man.

Arthur blushed, eyes widening, and turned away from Alfred. Back in England, Arthur wasn't 'open' about it so much as it was 'assumed' by his one aunt that told his mother and other family and spread like wildfire about the acidic eyed male being more bent towards other, well, men. But here, in America, being searched down like a rat running from a violet-eyed snake, he didn't really feel it was necessary to broadcast his orientation and try to find a lover in his scenario. "Uh- er, I don't need to be watched. . . Plus, what about my stuff? That's all at the house I was renting from the nice lady, Eliziveta."

It was Alfred's turn to have his eyes widen. "You rented a house from _her_? You didn't happen to have anyone over, did you?"

Arthur's eyebrow arched as he looked to the taller man, whose eyes were completely serious. "What? No! Why would I have had anyone over? Need I remind you _I'm trying to hide from my family's killer?_" That last part was said in a furious whisper.

"Well, no, but she's kind of a weird character… she and this guy, Kiku, who, by the way, is one of my best friends, are like this-" Alfred crossed his fingers to represent a close relationship "-when it comes to the relationships of the gays around here. . . They can be the creepiest people here at times. Did she ask if you were queer?" Alfred clamped his hands over his mouth mentally, that last sentence slipping out, completely unintentionally.

"What? Um, Alfred, calm down. Yes, she did ask if I was gay… I told her the truth, she let me move in, two weeks later _this_ happens." He couldn't tell him that yet. Just, no, not yet.

"Uh, it's not like it's a bad thing, I mean, Mattie- my brother- he's gay. I'm bi. There's, like, a whole lot of gay guys around here and so there's nothing wrong with that or anything-" A small, pale hand was clamped over his mouth, thank God, Alfred had been rambling and couldn't think of anything to say. He was surprised with himself; he hadn't told anyone he was bi, not even Mattie.

"Shut up, you stupid, annoying prick! I am not living in your house! Honestly, I give your brother my consoles, to live with you, because, by the Queen, I would kill myself." Arthur spat, sliding his hand off the larger man's face.

"I- I'm sorry… er, I mean that I never get nervous like that and it was- I'm rambling again. I'll stop." Alfred hung his head in embarrassment. "Ya' know what?"

Arthur raised a single, rather bushy, eyebrow as a response, yelping in surprise when a strong, fine-toned arm appeared around his waist, lifting him up and over a shoulder- no, it was _Alfred's_ shoulder- as if he was a pillow.

"You_ stupid oaf! _Set me down!" Arthur yelled. Yet, instead of doing as the Brit asked, Alfred walked calmly and casually over to the coat rack with Arthur's torn up trench coat hanging on it, picked it up and threw it over his other shoulder. "_Alfred_! Where are you taking me?!"

"My house," and with that, Alfred walked out of the door; a small male fighting vigorously on one shoulder, a long trench coat on the other.

"We're here," Alfred said happily, but still not setting the pissed Englishman down. Instead, he knocked on the door, a wide grin placed upon his lips.

When a male with wavy, slightly tousled, shoulder-length hair, grey wire-framed glasses in front if lavender eyes, and stood only a few inches shorter than Alfred, himself, opened the door, his eyes widened, mouth slightly opened in awe. "A- Al- Alfred... why is there a small man on your shoulder?"

"Hey, Mattie, this is Arthur! He's gonna take the guest room upstairs. That's Ok, right?" Alfred asked, setting said man down, putting the coat on his head, in result blocking his eyes' view of the man in front of him. After the acidic eyed Brit removed the coat from over his eyes and slid his arms through the sleeves, shooting a murderous glare at Alfred, he returned his eyes, with a much more welcoming expression, to Matthew, extending his hand automatically in greet.

"H-Hi, I'm Matthew, Alfred's younger twin brother, and I bring him fresh clothes and meals every few days," Matthew gladly took the hand offered to him and shook carefully.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Arthur Kirkland. I hope not to be a bother to you." Arthur responded politely.

"Artie, you won't be a bother! You couldn't if you tried!" Alfred pointed out, roughly placing an arm around his neck.

"My name is Arthur, not 'Artie', you bumbling idiot." Arthur grumbled, another phrase said all too often. Stepping away from Alfred, Arthur asked wordlessly if he could go inside.

Matthew moved out of the doorframe, stepping inside and pointing to the well-worn sofa in the relatively large living room with his arm, sweeping the air in the direction, attempting to show a politeness and a welcoming. Arthur nodded in thanks, and walked in slowly, a sudden wave of exhaustion hitting him. He sat on the couch, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

"K, Artie. Let's show you your room?" Alfred asked, offering his hand to help Arthur up.

"Thank you so much for allowing me to stay here," Arthur said to Matthew, seeing Alfred's hand, ignoring it and standing up.

"It's really no problem, Arthur. With Alfred at the station all the time, I've had a lot more food than I know what to do with and, frankly, it's kinda lonely without anyone." Matthew smiled.

Arthur smiled, walking over to Matthew and placing a kind hand on his shoulder. He nodded in understanding, and Arthur followed Alfred up the stairs. Alfred led his guest to the guest room, pausing unnoticeably to look at the lotus and its vase. Arthur sat at the desk browsing through the dusty books when Alfred came in and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, Arthur?" Alfred asked, stating it like a question.

"Yes, Alfred?" Arthur asked, looking at Alfred on the bed and arching an eyebrow. The American seemed unsettled, like he wanted to say something, but didn't know how to go about it. Arthur, being the straight _**(GAY ;P)**_ guy he was, he 'observed' the good looking man, realizing that Alfred had a deep tan spread over his face and arms, those limbs being the only ones exposed; Alfred wore worn jeans and a plaid short-sleeved shirt and a tan colored vest.

Alfred sat, staring at his hands and twiddling his thumbs awkwardly. "Did I tell you why we came out here?"

Arthur knew the confusion was inevitably on his face. "No… what is this about, Alfred?' Arthur said slowly and carefully.

"Um, well Mattie and I are orphans. Our mother was Native American, but she knew our father was a white man, and that was looked down on with anyone, so she gave us up. But she had loved us and had given us the vase she made during her pregnancy for a remembrance gift because she knew she would need to give us up.

"When we had gotten older, we realized we were unhappy at the orphanage, although they were kind. When we were around seventeen, we left and came out here. Along the way, there was a beautiful place with lots of flowers and a small pond with lilies and lotus'. We, of course, had the vase with us, and Mattie wanted to put a flower in the vase. To bring more eyes to _it_ instead of _us_, you know?

"When we got here, there were all sorts of odd jobs we could take up. Mattie was good at cleaning and knew a little bit about food; I was great at simple construction and collecting samples from the plants and animals. Mattie would help a French guy named Francis clean his house when his leg was broken, that's how Mattie learned French. I helped Antonio- a guy from Spain- with his garden and would help build buildings and stuff around town.

"Eventually, I knew enough to build a legitimate house with a lot of help, and by that time, Mattie and Gilbert had begun going out. Matthew asked Gilbert to help me, Gilbert got Antonio to help, and everyone in town was glad to give us supplies. I think about it now and I wonder what they had in mind when I would ask for bricks and wood, a few beds, quilts. All those things and the only people that asked what we were building were Gilbert and Antonio.

"We stopped telling our story to people. _Every time_ it would just get long and _longer_ so we just stopped."

Finishing his story off, his eyes were lost, looking into the oblivion. During that time, Matthew came to see what was going on- he hung in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Compared to his brother, he was a dainty boy, and a single, fragile hand covered a slightly open mouth and tears that may have slipped from their holds. Tears welled up in Arthur's eyes as well, and the beautiful cerulean of Alfred's eyes had hazed into a dull baby blue. Arthur hated it when Peter would cry; he despised it when his mother wouldn't stop for days after their father left. He wasn't good with crying, and would usually end up crying, himself.

To try and comfort the oblivious American, Arthur walked over to the bed with everything a little fuzzy from the tears. He sat to Alfred's right and put his arm around Alfred's shoulders, bringing his head down to his chest, holding him close. Alfred clung to him and started shuddering from the held back sobs from a long childhood cut short.

"Mattie and I- w- we would always be together. No- _no_ one could break us apart. They would try. People liked us- they did. They _didn't_ want two kids running around. Evr- every time they would bring us back, I cou- couldn't cry. I had to stay strong, you know? I had to- I- I _had_ to," broken sentences found their way into the light

"Alfred, Alfred, it's Ok. You'll be Ok. No one will take either one of you away. I'm here. It's Ok," Arthur whispered soothing words into his ear like a mother.

Matthew had left to his own room at that point. You could hear his slight and quiet sobs if you were very quiet outside his door. Alfred had almost calmed down all the way, but at that point, they were against the pillows and Alfred's tears had dampened a spot on a pillowcase.

Slowly, ever so gradually, they all fell asleep; Matthew in his bed thinking about tomorrow, Alfred in Arthur's arms.

************* -Heheh, I'm not done (K- ***********

_Darkness. It swelled around me like a liquid. It was suffocating, but I could breathe. I felt suspended in midair, but like I was drowning. I tried thrashing around. I couldn't _feel_ anything. At all._

_Where am I? What the bloody Hell is going on?_

_I couldn't move now. Everything stopped. I'll try to speak._

Hello? Where am I?

_What? What is this? I couldn't speak. I didn't say anything!_

_My head… its being forced to my… right._

**Look, there. What do you see?**

_The hell? Who was that? What do I see? I don't 'see' anything!_

**Look and you shall see. Wish and you shall receive.**

_Well, right now I 'wish' to be able to 'look'!_

**Very well.**

_What? That's it? What am I supposed to—oh? That's what._

_There was your head, suspended in thin air. Your beautiful blue eyes and the wheat hair. It was you. Only, you were crying again. I don't like it when you cry._

_I could move again, but only my arms and head. I reached over to you. I touched you, but the second I made substantial contact and tried to bring you closer into a hug, my hands went straight through you._

_Why? I- I have to save you!_

_There was a flash of purple behind you. But not Matthew's eye colour purple. It was a childish and evil purple. I don't know how those two go together, but with _him_ they do._

_Move! Alfred!_

_I tried to save you. But you wouldn't move. In fact, you changed. I was forced into my original position, and forced to watch your transformation. Your eyes turned purple, first Mattie's purple, then to _his_ purple. Your hair changed colour. It became a pale blond, lighter than my own. Your face changed next. No transition, I just blinked and you weren't you._

_In fact, you were my family's murderer._

_I screamed. I pleaded. I cried. I did anything I thought might get him back into _you_. Nothing worked._

_But I did hear your voice. I froze and stared at him. He simply smirked. And then he spoke. But he had your voice. It was distorted, like I was underwater, but I could still here you._

I _will_ get you. Just like I did your other brothers.

_This time I just screamed, but I could feel like I was being shaken. I could feel like I was being pulled up, out of the darkness. But there wasn't a light to lead the way. I just went. He followed, but he was a little ways behind._

_Then it stopped._

************* -No, still not done- ************

Arthur was shaking and screaming, tears flowing from his eyes. Alfred, who woke up when Arthur screamed the first time, was trying to shake Arthur awake.

Suddenly all of Arthur's 'activities' stopped, and his eyes opened.

"..? Alfred? No, no, no, no, no, no, NO! You'll just turn into _him_ again, won't you? Won't you?!" Arthur accused, thrashing again, only this time trying to get out of Alfred's grip.

"What? Arthur, ARTHUR! Calm down! I won't hurt you!" Alfred said in vain.

Arthur kept fighting, even though he knew this wasn't his dream. "Get away from me!"

"No! This- Arthur, me- I'm _real,"_ Alfred said. This, somehow, stroke a chord with Arthur, causing a small hesitation.

That hesitation was all Alfred needed- he grabbed Arthur's wrists and held them behind his back with one hand. With the other hand he held the back of Arthur's neck, forcing him to look at him directly. Both men's eyes had a different glow- they seemed to have their own light. The lantern had blown out; the sun had long gone down.

"Thank you, Alfred. I'm better now," Arthur resigned. He would've looked away, if Alfred would let go of his neck.

"No problem," Alfred grinned, but kept his eyes open. He didn't let go.

Arthur squirmed under Alfred's intense gaze. "Uh… you can let go now…" Arthur whispered; being able to feel another man's breathing (especially if that man was one of the subjects of that _horrific_ nightmare) is not _always_ a good thing.

"No, I can't. I've gotta do something first," Alfred whispered, barely audible. He slowly came in towards the other man's face, knowing he was already so close and didn't want to bump him. He blinked his eyes closed and let go of Arthur's Wrists and neck in favor of holding his back.

Their lips met, softly and carefully. Arthur's eyes widened in pure shock, but then slid his eyes closed. His newly freed hands snaked their way around Alfred's neck.

They broke away, but still in each other's embrace, and Arthur's eyes questioned Alfred's. Alfred just shrugged and lay back down.

"It's still early. We can go get your stuff later," Alfred said coolly, like they hadn't been kissing seconds earlier.

Arthur glanced out the window, noticing the sun wasn't to be up for another couple hours. "Whatever," he relied on the compound word to carry the emotion he wanted to portray once more.

**K, now I'm done. Well, with this chapter. Finally. Took me forever. Tell me what you think?**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey, readers! I think the last chapter was a success, no? I'm pretty sure what I wanna do with the rest of the story, so there might only end up being six or seven chapters, counting an epilogue- maybe. For the record, I do not know British English, I am an American. So I will **_**not **_**be able to spell words like colour or favour like I just did. I don't know how to, it's just not in my blood. And school just started, SOOO IMMA HAVTA FIGURE OUT HOW TO GET OUT OF THE TOURTURE OF COMMON PERSON HOMEWORK~! \TTATT/**

'**Thank you's to Englandaru, ****fallendeHimmel****, KingdomKuroGeass, Miri-chan98, and the anons for reviewing. I loved reading them. *A* for the record, please don't explode! Oh, and thank you to the favorites and follows! Those are always good~**

**Arthur's P.O.V.**

"Hey, Arthur, Alfred wanted me to wake you. I see you didn't need me to do that?" Matthew asked with his soft voice, knocking on the door that hung ajar with a small smile.

I looked up from reading one of the books at the desk. "Oh, aright then, I'll be right down," I said, snapping the book closed after mental noting the page I was on.

Matthew nodded and smiled, going down the stairs to tell Alfred that I'd be down soon as well. I grabbed my coat, holding it over my shoulder by the collar. Dashing down the stairs, sliding my arms through the slightly torn sleeves, I thought this was like a scene in a very bad book or silent movie. "Let's go, Alfred. I want to get in and get my stuff as fast as possible," I barked, taking one look in the parlor to see Alfred sprawled out on the couch.

"Ok, Artie. Where did you live anyways?" he said, pushing himself off the couch.

"Er… from here, I think a couple roads down…" I lied through my teeth, not knowing at all and hoping Alfred, nor Matthew, would be able to detect the shaky-ness in my voice. I glanced at Matthew in the kitchen doorway, his lips quirked up and shaking his head slowly. I saw that he wouldn't tell Alfred; the stupid American was too oblivious to see my somewhat obvious lie.

"Good, then let's get a move on!" Alfred exclaimed, clapping his hands together and stepping ahead of me to walk outside.

I avoided eye contact with both residents, but followed after. I walked back towards the Sheriffs Building, turned, and walked back down the street I ran through only a week earlier to escape my attempted killer. My hands in the pockets of my coat, I let my shoulders slump forward. As I turned here and there, hoping I was going the right way, I felt Alfred next to me tense.

_Oh, I hope he doesn't try to strike up conversation… Or try to ask about what happened last night… _I thought, hiding my blushing face by looking the other way.

"So, uh, what should _we_ do..? About us, I mean…" he asked, messing with his hands.

_Oh, God…_ I face-palmed, slid my hand down to grip my chin over my mouth, and glared flatly over to the tall American. "I don't know. I guess we go on like a couple of dead puppies!" I remarked sarcastically.

The features in Alfred's face changed, twisting into an expression that seemed to resemble a kicked puppy. I straightened and looked at him. I placed a hand on his shoulder. "I was being sarcastic," I explained carefully, creasing my eyebrows together.

"Oh, I knew that," Alfred said, his face immediately going back into a pleasant expression. I tried to turn around, but in the middle of my turn, large hands grabbed my shoulders and twisted me back around. I was crushed in a tight hug, and I tried to use my hands to push on Alfred's chest, not making any progress. "Hey, Artie, would you stay here after we take care of him? Please?" Alfred murmured into my ear.

I shuddered, the warmth of his breath sending shivers throughout my body.

I thought for a second. I've never thought about what I would do afterwards. As time went by, I guess I gave up thinking about that sort of thing. No hope to be able to move on, I think. I figured I would keep moving around until I either lost him or until he got caught. Or, the most gruesome of them all, he caught me. Living here, with Alfred and Matthew? I thought that sounded good; a happy, loving life. I could do that.

My hands pressed against Alfred's chest slackened, and I slid them down and around his waist. "Yes. I think I could do that. Alfred, I think I want to stay here," I whispered into his shoulder.

"Really, you do? That's great, Art~! Haha, I think Mattie will be happy! All of us together, happily ever after!" he said, his hands now on my waist, lifting me up and spinning around.

"Hey! Put me down, Alfred!" I yelled with mock outrage. When my feet touched the ground, I sighed and laughed with Alfred. "Ok, Al, we should get going. I want to have some of your brother's food," I smiled at Al and took his hand, pulling his in what I hope was the right direction.

*******2****rd**** Person **_(It's a POV, Ok?) _*********

They walked hand-in-hand, turning down on the street with the market and the main landlord's home. Speaking of which, is where a certain short Japanese and black-haired man came out of the door, holding something to his chest, scurrying away as to not to be caught in something. Hmmm, I wonder what that was. Either way, a certain American cowboy with a Brit on his arm waved excitedly at him.

"Hey, Kiku~! Get over here! Say hi, we have a guest!" he called, his hand cupped over his mouth for emphases.

Arthur immediately slipped his hand out of Alfred's as Kiku turned around, his hair slightly swishing. "Ah, hai, Arfred-san, good to see you. I aporigize, but I must go," he says quickly, eyeing the two, and turned back around to scurry home.

A pout slightly stuck out on Alfred's lower lip. "Aw, I wanted to talk with him… Oh, well, hey Artie, Eliziveta lives right there," Alfred whined, but then pointed to the building Kiku had come from.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Alfred, but walked promptly towards his former landlord's home. "Let's get a move on, Alfred," he ordered, glancing back and smiling briefly at him.

Alfred followed suit, and as they approached the door, he knocked with his knuckles. Arthur cringed at the noise. He dropped to the ground, his eyes wide and his mouth gaped open, staring blankly into nothing, slightly shaking. This may have been a very bad thing…

*********Arthur's Mind*********

_The darkness is engulfing me again._

_What the hell? I was with Alfred… he knocked on the door._

_I don't know anything after that._

_Hey, you! The bloody person from before! Where are you?_

**I cannot offer you anything this time.**

**This time, you are to bare your torture for the seven hundredth forty-third time.**

**And you are to find something he gave you-**

**A good thing.**

_What? The bloody hell is that supposed to mean?_

_The hell, don't make me do this again!_

_No, no, no, _no, no, **no, NOOO!**

_*The darkness around Arthur dissipates into a dimly lit,_

_Blood soaked room with a blond male beaten against the side of a wall._

_A long haired blonde woman lay, dead, on the floor,_

_Blood stains lead to a tall, slender redhead, his head hung low, not only in_

_Death, but in utter defeat._

_An even younger boy with shredded clothes and gaping wounds lay on his_

_Side, the first to say hello to the tall hooded skeleton wielding a scythe.*_

_The first human, not dead just yet, slightly opened his eyes._

_He saw only his family dead, separate lumps around._

_He knew he should be as well, but couldn't move his eyes away and let_

_The overwhelming darkness take him like it did his mother and brothers._

_He slowly lifts his hand and looks at the lacerated palm._

_His eyes haze out as they go through the events that put him in this situation;_

_Beaten, bloodied, battered, unhinged, and family-less._

_Tears cleared tracks through the mostly dried blood upon his cheeks._

_He winced as salt slipped into the slice along his jawline._

_He attempted to get up-_

_A banging of a heavy metal door cut his progress off._

_Wide-eyed, he stopped moving and sat back down, trying his best to_

_Look the same as he did when he woke._

_I've seen this before- I'm the blond against the wall._

_They- he can't see me._

_The person that opened the door- the killer._

_He comes in- he knows I'm alive somehow._

_He takes the other me's face between his thumb and forefinger,_

"_You a lucky little boy, da."_

_His thick Russian accent sickened me then,_

_It terrifies me today._

_The other me glared at him,_

_Tears glistening in his eyes._

_A sharp order of invading ended up destroying the place- _

_The Russian got away and they buried my family._

_My other two brothers had died before that due to a car accident_

_Caused by a drunken Scott._

_The other me's at the funeral and I see a flash of purple eyes._

_The other me is terrified and leaves-_

_Leaves the country._

_To America._

_Where I met Alfred._

_*The color around the Russian and Arthur disappears._

_Everything is a blinding white._

_Arthur's eyes are on the Russian's,_

_And he smirks at Arthur.*_

_Oh, God._

_**Hallo, I am your family's killer.**_

_**I will kill you, da?**_

_N-no, you can't!_

_I-I need to be alive!_

_I actually have a reason now!_

_Alfred! Alfred, save me! Alfred, help!_

_I need your help!_

_Get me __**OUT!**_

*End of chapter*

**Um, k, sooo~ it took me a while to write this chapter. Idk why… BUT I did finish it. That's always good.**

**But, for people who actually care, I believe that you CAN'T JUST SKIP NUMBERS so I thought that maybe because there's a third and first person, there must be a second person. Then I thought 'how would there be a different POV?' Then I came up with a POV similar to third, but it was also like first. So I win. LIKE I'M AWSOME. Bleh to you too.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Meh, me, meh, meh, meh~~ I'm not too sure how to do this chapter… BUT I KNOW THAT SOME SHIZ GOES DOWN or something. So, onward!**

**Warning!: Minor make-out scene... ^.^''**

**I have discovered in English class that second person is when it's like 'You are the only person left after an apocalypse that you know of. You must learn to survive. You go do this and that.' And stuff like that (Basically a reader insert. ;P). So, after some serious glaring at a certain teacher, I'm renaming my POV to 4****th**** person!**

'**Thank yous' to Worst3ver, Neko Romano the 14****th****, fallendeHimmel, and a good friend ****yumikinz-sonadowlOve for reviewing! Always love those!**

**(P.S., I can't write accents, except **_**maybe**_** Turkish, German, Swedish, and French. Oh, and Chinese, a little. Sorry, I can't write Hungary's accent any more than a baby can be expected to know what 'fuck' means.)**

**Disclaimer: nah, I think owning it would be a shame, cuz then I wouldn't get to write this stuff; I'd just put it in the series~!**

_******3__rd__ person******_

Alfred lifted the small Brit from the ground, completely unsure of what was going on. When he started struggling in his arms and murmuring something about a reason and death. Then something about needing to be saved and his emerald eyes were searching everywhere. Everywhere, his eyes darted and searched and Alfred brought his face close to Arthur's, trying to see into his eyes and know what he's looking for.

The door in front of him opened, and an average height woman wearing a green cleaning dress, with dirty blond hair that fell to her mid-back, eyes green like grass, and a smile that said 'Oh, yay, visitors! OHMIGAWD they're gay! ^J^'

"Hey, Eliziveta, um, do you have a couch I could use?" Alfred said, smiling uncertainly.

"Oh, of course, Alfred! Is that… Arthur?" She said in her Hungarian accent, opening the door to allow them in.

Alfred sped through into the parlor, where he set Arthur down on the couch, cradling his face between his hands. "Yes, it's Artie. You know why he left England, right?"

"Yes, I do. He told me that his family died, that he needed to hide. Other than that, he only told me that he was gay," Eliziveta said, her face falling into an expression of deep concern.

"Yeah, well, he actually is running from a killer. We, uh, sorta fell in love, and I promised to take care of the killer. But when I knocked on your door so we could get his stuff, he dropped to the ground and started looking into space. He muttered something about needing help and I think he's having a flashback. Do you have any idea what to do?" Alfred explained, brushing a little bit of blond hair out of Arthur's face.

Eliziveta crossed her arms and furrowed her brows, thinking. "Maybe some ice for his head..? I'll go get it," she offered, going into what Alfred assumed to be the kitchen, grabbing a rag and a few handfuls of ice from the ice box in the corner.

"Thank you," Alfred called after her. "Artie, what are you looking for?" he whispered to Arthur's non-respondent body.

He looked closer at Arthur's face, his nose only a breath's away from his own. Cerulean eyes searching acid, he calmly breathed a few words to him; "Arthur, Arthur I'm here. I will help you. Arthur, I love you, he will never hurt you again. Arthur, can you hear me?"

Arthur's eyes searched, his lips quivering as they tried to speak incoherent words. His pupils were small, as if their owner's body was in a bright, white room. Suddenly, Arthur's eyes became focused enough to see Alfred's face. His eyes welled up, sniffing, the tip of his nose slightly bumping Alfred's.

"… A- Al, I think I know what he meant," Arthur whispered, his eyes dilating to an average size. His hands slipped up to grip Alfred's shoulders. A single tear began to trickle down the right side of his face. Alfred's hand gently cupped Arthur's right cheek, his finger blocking the path of the drip. The Brit simply let his head rest in his (lover's?) hand, whimpering as he remembered where all of his wounds and lacerations were. A thin, pale scar along his left jawline began to slightly turn pink, almost as a blush, yet collecting no heat.

"Who, Hon, know what who meant?" Alfred murmured, pressing his forehead against Arthur's, never once blinking or breaking eye contact. He had noticed the scar, but didn't mention it. As a sleeve to Arthur's coat began to slip up his left arm a little, there were other pinken-ing scars around his wrists and along his forearm.

"Th- that _man_ in my dreams- he never appears- he just speaks- in riddles- and he said that my family's murderer gave me something- something good. I realize what that thing is- Alfred, it's you." As Arthur said this, tears slid down the sides of his face, flowing along the side of Alfred's palm.

"Hey, hey, Artie, I get what you're saying. If he hadn't done that, you _wouldn't_ have come here, to the awesome U.S.A. But I promise you, there is _no reason_ why I shouldn't punch the guy into next century's seventh layer of hell and back. I guarantee, I will avenge your family for you- it just… may take a little while." Alfred finished, taking his hand off of Arthur's face and sitting up straight, throwing his fist into the air and smiling his perfect hero smile that made the six single girls in the entire town swoon. Little drops from Arthur's tears flew off, catching the light from the windows and adding a glamorous scene aspect from a terrible newspaper comic strip. **[*Face-palm* so… much… fluff…]**

Shaking his head in straight and utter awe at Alfred's stupidity, Arthur tried to sit up, taking his knees close to his chest. "Yes, the 'awesome U.S.A.' as you may state it," Arthur stated, smiling in spite of himself.

"I heard zomzing about ze awesomeness! Does zat mean me?" a German accent flows through the entire house, ringing an annoyed feeling in Arthur's core.

"Alfred, who is that?" Arthur asked with an agitated quirk to his brow.

"Oh, that's Gilbert, Mattie's boyfriend. He's good friends with Eliziveta, too, and her husband, Roderick. And he's got two other friends, Francis, who's apparently distantly related to Mattie and me, and Antonio, whose boyfriend is Gilbert's brother, Ludwig's boyfriend, Feliciano's brother, Lovino... it can be a little confusing, but somehow in this little town, we have about two people per country, including China, but now I guess we have a Russian…" Alfred says with a semi-nervous smile.

And with that, Gilbert happens to be an albino 'Prussian' (NOT GERMAN), and he brought the aforementioned Spaniard who was hanging on an Italian's hand, trying to convince him he was the most adorable tsundre in the world or something. Heh, I think he's tied in first with Arthur, but I may be mistaken.

"Sorry, Alfred; Arthur. I had asked Gilbert to come over with Antonio and Lovino to help me with my garden- I really just wanted Antonio and Lovino to take care of the garden as I conversed with Gilbert about his relationship with your brother… I hope he doesn't cause a disturbance between you two, and please, don't hesitate to tell him to shut up- I know I don't!" Eliziveta apologized, laughing lightly, demonstrating ease. Although, as an afterthought, doesn't she hit him with a frying pan and yell at him, not order him to shut up? Oh, well.

"No problem, Eliza. Artie and I only have to get his stuff; that reminds me- hey, Eliza, would we be able to go into Arthur's building for his stuff, please?" Alfred explained, patting Arthur's shoulder and starting to stand up.

Arthur reached up, grabbing Alfred's long sleeve, and tried to stand as well. However, instead, he stumbled, bumping into Alfred and bringing them both down to the floor. Arthur fell sideways, towards Alfred, but as they drooped towards the floor, Alfred twisted his body and wrapped his arms around Arthur's shoulders, holding his head to his chest. They landed with a thump, Arthur lying on Alfred's torso. Arthur pulled himself up into a sitting position, straddling Alfred's waist.

""Bloody hell, that was unexpected. Sorry, Alfred, are you alright?" Arthur asked, leaning forward to evaluate Alfred's face.

Alfred opened his eyes, staring straight into Arthur's. Alfred noticed their position; his hands placed firmly on Arthur's hips, Arthur straddling him, yeah a bit awkward. So Alfred blushed, lips turned upwards, and looked away.

"Eeee~~! So cute!" Eliza – figures – exclaimed through the room, shocking Gilbert, Lovino, and Antonio, leading them into the room, where Gilbert gave an immature wolf whistle, laughing with a rather odd 'Keseseses~' afterwards… weird. Antonio covered the Italian's eyes, whispering that he didn't need to be subjected to such impurities. Er, yeah- because they don't do much worse than that when they're alone.

"U-um, sorry… I'll get up now-!" Arthur started to stand up and was apologizing, but was ultimately interrupted when a blushing American leaned forward, crashing his lips onto Arthur's.

Arthur, still straddling Alfred's waist, widened his eyes, shocked somewhat. He realized he had nothing to fear about the large, protective male, and he sunk into the kiss. Pressing further, Alfred lowered himself to the floor, slipping his tongue into Arthur's mouth. Exploring the new territory, their tongues had a fiery battle of dominance. Eventually, Arthur gave up, sighing into Alfred's mouth. Alfred took that as a progress sign, wrapping his arms around Arthur, hiking Arthur's legs high on his waist, and flipped the two of them over, hovering over Arthur. The kiss didn't break; although, Arthur's eyes widened in astonishment again.

Alfred finally broke the kiss, laughing breathlessly. Alfred bent his head down, nipping at the crook of Arthur's neck. Arthur's eyes drifted halfway closed, glazed over, his mind full of thoughts of Alfred filling him. Alfred didn't stop; just kept biting, sucking, and licking up and down Arthur's pale neck, from the vary base of his ear lobe, to the collar of his shirt where he was forced to stop and work his way up again. Arthur, suddenly realizing there were people surrounding them, he tugs at Alfred's shirt, urging him to stop. "A-Alfred, we should get what we came- er- arrived for. Get up, would you?"

Meanwhile, a Hungarian woman was being frantically fanned, and a Prussian worried for one of the only females in the entire town. Antonio had convinced Romano to leave the room; Gilbert could hear Romano calling the Spaniard a 'Tomato Bastard' again. Alfred got up, fixing his jeans, can't imagine why, and helped Arthur. Well, that was a good run while it lasted.

_****Two hours later. ****_

Alfred and Arthur, with two suitcases of clothes and books, trudged their way back to Alfred's home. This time, Alfred lead the way, excited to know his 'Artie' was going to stay with them officially. Arthur had a smile of his own dancing upon his lips, ecstatic to know he actually belonged somewhere.

"Kolkol…" Arthur looked behind him. He thought he heard someone, in fact, he knew he did, but as luck would have it, he got a hand over his mouth, and was grabbed around the waist. "Shhhhh, da? I'm finally going to kill you, so shut up," the frosty voice of that _man_ was in his ear. It made Arthur shudder, but didn't keep him from struggling and making an attempt for Alfred to hear him.

Arthur scratched at the pale hand over his mouth, and finally built up enough air in his lungs to shout for Alfred. "_**Alfreeddd!**_"

_****To Be Continued. ****_

**Okay, lemme apologize. I didn't wanna leave a cliffhanger! I promise, I didn't! DX**

**Review if you wanna tell me how stupid the cliffhanger was or how terrible the make-out scene was!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Alright, I'm aware that was a very corrupt cliffhanger. I intend to make up for it! So, in this chapter, I'm aware that the killer abducted Arthur in broad daylight. It comes into play, I promise! And, for the record, I'm making my home country a truly kick-ass guy. This is, in fact, the long awaited last chapter!**

**Warning: Mild violence with some-what strong language.**

**A special thanks to Wolfen Artist of Hetalia and Canadafangirl11! I love reviews, follows, and favorites~ I never thought this story would get so many reviews! ^J^**

_Previously in __Western Hero_

_Arthur scratched at the pale hand over his mouth, and finally built up enough air in his lungs to shout for Alfred._

"_**Alfreeddd!**__"_

_****4__th__ Person. ****_

Alfred dropped the suitcase and turned around. "What the-?!" Alfred saw the swish of Arthur's torn trench coat, and ran straight toward it.

Here's an awesome thing about small towns- if someone yells, even in the middle of the night and it's more of a groan **(*wink*),** about every female and uke will wake up and tell their man or lover and send them out to investigate. And, just as well, all the men own hunting rifles, as this is a small town and the residents _happen_ to like to shoot and kill their own food. Hey, you've gotta admire how fresh and tasty it is! Anyways, as Arthur's scream rang through the alleys and roads, there was a loud commotion of people trying to figure out what was going on, on the other side of town. The only civilian not there was Alfred, and few of them even knew Arthur or his situation with the psycho killer. They contemplated this. Some kept saying that this yell was directed _toward_ Alfred, so he must be after the yeller, and quite frankly, they were right!

Alfred turned the corner after the Russian and was astonished to see the tall man facing him, a seemingly endless scarf wrapped around his neck and an incredibly long and thick coat made for the frost bitten winters of Moscow.

"Ah, so this is the man you called for, _da_?" the Russian accent slicing through Alfred put his hairs on end. "I was, how you say, expecting, a more presentable man to fight for my newest addition to Mother Russia, da."

"Mphhh! Mmmm- mmuhmm~!" the small, crumpled figure off to the side squirmed and tried to speak around the cloth shoved in his mouth.

"Artie, don't worry, I'll get you outta here in just a bit, kay?" Alfred assured Arthur from the distance he was at.

Arthur looked right at Alfred, almost saying "Don't do it, you can't, I've seen him kill others and he'll kill you, too!"

Alfred got this and tried to convey a message of his own: "I said 'don't worry', didn't I?" In reality, the American was taking off his bomber jacket, leaving his torso covered only by a tight, white T-shirt. **(Did they have T-shirts? Oh, well, even if they didn't, now they do.) **Alfred's arms rippled and his chest tightened as he hunched over and clenched his fists.

Arthur didn't understand the 'message' and thought Alfred was about to indirectly commit suicide. But, you see, one thing Alfred didn't tell Arthur was that Alfred also had to learn how defend, not only himself, but Matthew as well. Now, this got Alfred into an amazing shape – this shape being fine-toned and sun-kissed. Alfred was very much ready to kick some commie ass.

_****Arthur's POV. ****_

Alright, I'm a bit pissed at Alfred about now. He won't _listen_ to me! He doesn't seem to realize there's a huge Russian serial killer trying to _kill_ him. But the issue is that I can only _let_ that happen, due to the bloody ropes put around my wrists. How the bloody hell can a guy tie a rope so fast? He only had three, maybe four seconds!

What the hell is Alfred doing?! He's taking off his jacket, yes, but I mean, why? Does he attempt to beat him with a fight? Fucking hell, Americans are so cocky. Oh, god, where did those muscly arms come from? Er, I mean, where did that confidence come from?

Oh, no, the Russian's smiling again. God, this is not going to be good.

"Does the little American think he can take me?" he started to chuckle at his own joke, his cold, emotionless, laughs classified as more of a 'kol' than a traditional 'ha'. "Ah, you Americans are funny, _da_?"

"You won't be thinkin' we're funny for much longer, that much I can promise you! I may not be nearly as tall or weather-resistant as you obviously are, but I'm still able to defend myself from a few full-grown men, let alone one oversized Commie!" Alfred taunted the tall man, clenching and unclenching his fists.

The 'commie' was noticeably pulling tight the muscles in his jar and relaxing, very much fed up with the conversation. I hope Alfred makes the first move.

_****3__rd__ person. ****_

Alfred has his hands loosely held in front of his face. He's sorta hunched over, bouncing his weight between his feet. He sees the Russian getting impatient, and grins. _This will be awesome! Haha, I'll piss him off and get him unfocused, it'll be my best win yet!_ Alfred looks up, straight into the Russian's face and yells at him "Hey, Mr. Moscow, I've never beaten anyone without knowing their name. So, what's yours?"

The Russian sneers, and starts 'kol'-ing lightly again. "My name? Where I'm from, my mother gave me the name Ivan Braginski. Now, I don't use a name. There isn't even anyone to call me by that title, _da_, but this is also assuming you can beat me," Ivan proclaimed, glowering down at Alfred.

Alfred keeps up with the bouncing and tries to think of something else that would get under 'Ivan's' skin. He didn't come up with anything. So, instead, he just went at it.

Alfred ducked down for no apparent reason, then he was right there, in front of Ivan, and was about to deliver a right hook, when Ivan stepped back with one long stride. Ivan attempted to throw out a left-handed back-hand, but Alfred checked it by pushing it off to his right, using his left hand to go for a gut shot. The taller blond took the hit, but tried to double elbow Alfred's back when Alfred twisted out of the way and decked the Russian in the face. This pissed Ivan off, and he ripped off his long coat and threw it down next to the writhing mass of Arthur. Alfred went off to Ivan's left-hand side, his hands protecting his face again.

Ivan shrugged one shoulder, adjusting to his new scenario. Alfred tried to duck down and in again, but at last second he psyched out, going around and behind Ivan, and wrapping his arms around the Russian's waist. He squatted, got a good grip, and pulled with all his strength to flip Ivan onto his back. "Hragh! Holy shit, you're heavy!" Alfred exclaimed as Ivan's body was about parallel with his own. Ivan threw up his arms and tried to brace for impact and push off the ground for a back-hand-spring-like thing, but his arms buckled and he fell onto his back, his face twisted into a grimace. Alfred stood up straight and cracked his back. He turned to admire his work and noticed the blood splattered on Ivan's lips. _I didn't think I drew blood when I decked him, but maybe I should make sure he's unconscious_.

Alfred knelt down at Ivan's head and lifted it into a crevice he made with the forearm and upper arm of his right arm. Alfred tightened his hold and pressed the back of Ivan's head forward, and Ivan, who knew he wasn't going to be able to resist, as his arms and back hurt like a bitch. Alfred released after a minute, because he didn't want to cause any permanent damage to the Russian that wouldn't occur during his public execution that took place about two years later.

_****(Yes, Alfred got Arthur out of his binds.) Nine hours later. ****_

Once more, Arthur awoke swallowed by darkness. But, judging by the strong sent only describable as 'American' and the warm mass behind him, he could assume this was his new reality. Alfred's arm was protectively placed over Arthur's shoulders, and Arthur wasn't objecting. Actually, he tried to nestle up more against Alfred's bare chest. But, a pain shot up his back at the wiggle-y movement. Or, more specifically, his ass hurt.

"Alfred F. Jones, sir, you are quite lucky that I am unable to move," Arthur whispers to himself bemusedly. Alfred stirs, and brings his lips to Arthur's ear.

"What was that, Artie?" he asks, warm air sending **(hot, sexy, **_**good**_**)** chills down Arthur's bare spine.

"Nothing, luv, nothing at all~" Arthur murmured back, barring through the pain to snuggle into Alfred.

"Uh-huh. Sure, Artie. Love you," Alfred breathed, laying his head back down, falling asleep almost instantly.

"I love you, too, Alfred." Arthur closed his eyes, sleeping where he would belong for the rest of his life.

_**** No, I'm not writing the smut. ****_

_****Western Hero End. ****_

**So? How was it? I thought the fight went quite well, don't you? Haha, now that this is over, I'm going on a break. I will be writing to people, and writing a story (High school AU. Interested?) I hope to publish soon, along with a long-awaited request from a dear friend of mine on this site. But they will be débuted well into 2013 (Febuary/March-ish), if we live that long. (Not that we won't.)**


End file.
